


Meet the Authors

by ArchangelAzrael



Series: Another Day With You [8]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelAzrael/pseuds/ArchangelAzrael
Summary: "I'm trying to protect you."Eames squints and smiles, both flattered and confused. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I hardly think meeting the Arthurs is on par with some of the things I’ve managed to survive.”Arthur snorts, shaking his head. “Famous last words.”A continuation of "The Invitation."





	1. The First Sign

Eames lets out a final courteous laugh as Mrs. Arthur makes another pun and they say their goodbyes. He hangs up the phone and gives a cheeky smile to Arthur, who's now sprawled face down on their bed, groaning into a pillow.

"Well that settles it then," Eames says, clasping his hands and rubbing them together villainously. He already texted Ari.  _ Man and man emoji. Heart emoji. House emoji. Man and woman emoji. Present emoji. Christmas tree emoji. !!!!!!!   _ " I' m going to be shaking hands with Papa Arthur next weekend."

Arthur just groans louder.

Eames sighs, tossing his phone on the bed and then himself. He lays on his side, facing Arthur. He props an elbow on the mattress, rests his head on his palm, and whispers into his ear, "If I knew you would moan this loudly, I would've picked up the phone much sooner."

Arthur finally lifts his head to glare at him. 

"Now if you just add my name into the mix, I bet that would really get me going."

"Oh my God, stop. Not when I'm thinking of my parents," he groans, hands covering his eyes. His dimples make a brief appearance, however, so he knows he's temporarily forgiven.

Eames reaches over and brushes some hair behind his ear. "Come on, darling. Why don't you want us to go?" His fingers slowly make their way down the side of his face until his thumb is rubbing his chin. Arthur closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. "Are you ashamed of me?"  


Arthur's eyes snap open and he snatches his hand away from his face, gripping tightly. "Don't be stupid." He looks down at their interlocked fingers and sighs. "I'm trying to protect you."

Eames squints and smiles, both flattered and confused. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I hardly think meeting the Arthurs is on par with some of the things I've managed to survive."

Arthur snorts, shaking his head. "Famous last words." He sits up, leans against the headboard, and reaches over to grab his laptop off the nightstand. "You're lucky you've got a pretty face." He pauses for a moment, biting his lip. Then, with his face lit up dramatically by the laptop screen, he slowly turns to Eames and adds in a haunting whisper, "Though in the case of my parents, perhaps not."

This should've been the first sign.


	2. The Grateful Mistake

Eames has been bouncing his leg for eternity now. The only times he ceases is when he asks the stewardess for another drink or when he’s drinking. No alcohol, of course. It wouldn’t do him any good to show up at the house smelling like a bar.

Arthur presses a hand on his thigh, eyes still focused on the documentary playing on the screen in front of him.

He sighs, glancing at his reflection in the screen he had turned off during his attempt to sleep. His hair is turned up in several directions from his tossing and turning. There’s some dried up drool on his cheek from a brief nap he did manage to take. He rubs it off with the heel of his hand, wondering if he’s coming down with something. He tends to drool when he’s ill. He’d hate for the first impression Arthur’s parents have of him to be one of him dead on his feet. He turns to Arthur, shaking his shoulder. “On second thought, perhaps this isn’t a great idea.”

Arthur clicks the screen, pausing the film. He yanks out one earbud. “Why not? It was your idea.”

“I know. That’s precisely why we should put a stop to this nonsense while we’re ahead.”

Arthur lifts his hands to gesture vaguely at their surroundings, eyebrows raised. “We’re on the plane.”

Eames mimics his movements, albeit more exaggerated. “Your observation skills are astounding as ever, darling.” He lowers his hands, chuckling when Arthur punches his shoulder lightly. He sobers quickly, however. “We could switch at the layover. How does Rio sound?”

“It’s the rainiest time of the year,” he immediately replies. Curse his trivial National Geographic knowledge. “Also where is this coming from? You’ve been trying to set this up for months now.” He pauses, the corners of lips slowly threatening to lift into a shit-eating grin. “Are you nervous?” He stretches out the “-er,” teasing.

“Oh my dear Arthur, don’t project your insecurities on me.” He leans back, lifting his chin and folding his arms. “I noticed your reluctance.”

He huffs, looking out the window. “It’s not reluctance.”

He gives him a look--pursed lips, crinkled nose, wide eyes, raised eyebrows, tilting head--and holds it until Arthur notices and pulls that frown that he often wears when he’s trying not to smile. It’s adorably over the top and his glare has no intensity to it and God, when did he start calling him adorable?

He throws his hands up in frustration. “Okay, there’s some reluctance.” Noticing that he hasn’t dropped the look, he points his finger at him accusingly, his ears turning red, and adds, “But it’s not for the reason you think.”

“Oh?” Eames replies. He truly hadn’t been thinking of anything. Deep down, he knew that meeting Arthur’s parents was inevitable and that he would rightfully have some reservations about sharing that part of his life with him. Not that he’d use them to bring him harm. At least not so long as he loved him, or at the very least, respected him. Oh alright, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on them no matter the scenario, but he’s quite good at threatening. “Care to enlighten me?” He props his elbows on the armrest between them, his head in his palms, waiting with what he hopes appears to be innocent curiosity rather than eagerness.

Arthur stares silently at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. He can practically hear the gears shifting in his head as he considers his next words carefully. “If you tell me what your problem is.”

Ha! He has plans to do the exact opposite for as long as he shall live. The day he burdens him with his problems like he’s his fucking therapist is the day that maniac Cobb invites him to dinner and he accepts.

Arthur must have noticed his reluctance because the man leans over to kiss him on the nose. It’s an especially tender form of affection that he isn’t prone to, which makes him treasure it even more and he knows it. Warmth travels from the tip of his nose to his chest, making him hum with delight. Damn him.

He pulls back, looking smug. “Deal?”

He smiles despite himself. “Deal.” _For now._

“Alright.” He sighs, leans back, crosses his legs, and folds his hands in his lap.

The movement is too relaxed. He’s obviously trying not to indulge in any of his tics and tells, like cracking his knuckles or tapping his foot. He’s a terrible liar--always has been and they both know it--and so he’s trying to hide his minor incompetence with polished perfection. He would actually find the attempt endearing if it weren’t for the fact that for some reason Arthur feels as if he has to lie.

“I want you to meet my parents, but I don’t think they want to meet you.”

He snorts. “You’re oversimplifying, I’m sure.” _You liar._ “But if that’s really the case, let’s get to the root of the problem. Is it my dashing good looks? Did I lay on the charm a bit too thick?” He gasps, smiling wickedly. “Do they think I’m a naughty English boy corrupting their only child?”

“Well, aren’t you?" He catches the stewardess’ attention with a wave.

Before Eames can pull out his credit card and ask for another drink, Arthur does it for him. How did he--? Somehow without him noticing, he had nicked his card not only from his pocket, but also from deep inside the zippered pouch in his _metal-fastened wallet_. Zippers could be undone eventually, but metal fasteners are the devil’s work. How did he--?

He shakes his head, chuckling quietly. “You’re lucky I was about to do the same thing.”

He shrugs. “What can I say--,” he glances at his hands, nonchalantly, “--I’ve got sticky fingers.”

He gives his leg a light kick. Then he places a hand on his thigh as he whispers in his ear, “Is it bad that I catalogued every surface I could lay you down on as soon as I stepped foot on this plane?"

He shakes his head. “Not unless it’s also bad that I noted every wall that you could lean me against if there weren’t any surfaces available.”

Eames can’t decide whether to stare at his eyes or his lips so he opts to just gape at his entirety like an idiot. “And I said that you have no imagination.”

He shrugs, smirking. “And my parents said that I have horrible taste. 

He clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, pet. You know the folks are always right.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you’re the exception.” He clears his throat and sits up. Back to business then. “So--other than because of everything I just listed--why are you suddenly changing your mind about this?”

There are several ways he could answer that question and if he’s being honest with himself, none of them are honest. Which makes him wonder what their relationship is made up of more--truth or lies. God, they both need therapy. He decides to go for simple, meeting-the-parents nervousness because it’s easier to portray negative feelings than positive ones. “I--” He clears his throat. He begins again, biting his lip and averting his eyes for good measure. “Nothing. I was just a bit nervous about taking this next step in our relationship is all. It’s nothing.”

Arthur shakes his head furiously. “It’s both nothing _and_ a big deal.” He grabs his hand and looks right into his eyes, willing him to focus on his next words. “Sure I’m sharing a part of my life with you, but at the same time, I really don’t give a fuck what my parents think.”

He genuinely averts his eyes this time, choosing to focus on Arthur’s hand as he rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “Perhaps that’s just your bad taste speaking.”

“See the thing about bad taste is, it leaves a bitter flavor in your mouth once it’s come and gone. “But right now--,” he kisses him, “--you taste sweet.”

“I have never been more grateful to be someone’s mistake,” he whispers against his lips, beaming. Then he pulls him forward by the collar and starts snogging him senseless.


End file.
